Hate killed his brother; now we must teach him to love: Phillip Morris

As hundreds of mourners streamed by the casket of Brandon Lee Young Thursday morning, a large, well-dressed man leaned over and offered an observation.

"This is an incredible turnout. This crowd says a lot about who he was."

I nodded in agreement. The service was behind schedule, punctuated by the anguished wails of young females in a church filled with the glistening faces of young men. The line of those waiting to catch a final glimpse of Brandon, 17, extended down the stairs and around the corner from the church.

"You can tell that this boy will be badly missed. He was obviously well-loved," continued the large man, a retired soldier, who now operates a group home for non-violent juvenile felons.

I could only shake my head at the final observation. That's the insanity of this latest episode of neighborhood anarchy:

Brandon Young was hated.

This community must be perfectly clear on that. Brandon Young, also known as Big Baby, was hated just as passionately as he was loved. That's why he's dead. That's the sickness we confront.

Brandon Young was hated by four young black males, who shot and killed him while he walked down the street with his little brother on a perfect fall Saturday afternoon.

He was hated by young black males from his own community, young males who were perfectly indifferent to his life, his achievement, his potential and the joy this honor student- athlete brought to those around him.

He was hated by young black males who did not know him, who had not been reproached by him, yet, who arrogantly believed they were entitled to his life. Until we address this sort of viral hate, we can't stop the violence that continues to rob us of this sort of native son.

The postmortem portrait that emerged of Brandon Young at his funeral was beautiful. Speaker after speaker shared anecdotes of a "teddy bear" who could make anyone laugh or put a restless adolescent mind at ease. The senior at John Hay High School numbered among the best that the Cleveland Public School System has to offer. He would have become a man to be reckoned with.

Instead, Brandon is a familiar statistic.

Because of hate.

About 20 members of a Collinwood gang called the Lakeshore Boyz gathered near the church were Brandon was eulogized. It's not clear why they weren't in school. Police suspect that males affiliated with the gang orchestrated the attack on Brandon, his younger brother, Shaquille, 16, and two other boys as they walked that fateful afternoon.

The suspected gang members were closely watched by at least 10 Cleveland police and Cleveland municipal school officers, on hand to ensure that no further violence erupted.

Part of addressing the hate that killed Brandon involves someone coming forward in this community and identifying the haters who killed him.

Someone knows who killed Brandon. Someone should talk. That's not snitching. That's called loving Brandon. That's called ending the hate.

Another important part of addressing the hate – which could spiral into new violence -- involves saving Shaquille, the brother who escaped with his life. The young man's face was a frozen portrait of rage and grief during the ceremony. Several times he stood and stalked from the funeral.

His dangerous emotions, his unreleased screams filled the church.

His brother died. He lived. He has to be asking God why?

A young man who did ten years in the penitentiary spoke eloquently of the hate that killed Brandon. His remarks seemed tailored to the males in the audiences, especially Shaquille.

"Please don't honor him with a tattoo, or a T-shirt or a rap song. Honor him by becoming the type of person he was. Honor him by being like him."

"Honor him by extending your hand to help, not your fist to hurt."

Part of addressing the hate in this community involves working to usher Shaquille through his rage and his grief. It involves teaching him to love justice, not retribution.

Part of addressing the hate involves working to see that Shaquille honors his brother by becoming his brother's keeper -- by living his brother's legacy.

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